


Day 3: Memory

by TinaCentury



Series: Much, Much More than a Moment [3]
Category: Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon (Anime & Manga)
Genre: F/M, MamoUsa Week, MamoUsa Week 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 15:35:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19359835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinaCentury/pseuds/TinaCentury
Summary: MamoUsa Week 2019Day 3 (Really Day 2)Memory





	Day 3: Memory

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to Day 3! This is technically yesterday's prompt (Memory), but I switched it with Item because I was still trying to polish this one up. This is also I guess the first one that isn't actually taking place within an episode, so that's kind of cool.
> 
> Also, fair warning that this is a real ride on the angst bus. All aboard!
> 
> Thank you to FloraOne for enthusiastically beta-ing this and encouraging me! Honestly, I was super unsure of this one, so your help meant a lot, friend! 
> 
> Please let me know what you think?

For most of his life, Mamoru hated not remembering.

He hated not remembering his parents and the car crash that killed them. He hated not remembering his childhood.

He hated when his mind would desperately reach out for a string of anything that might help him fill the impenetrable gaps in his past and come up empty-handed, leaving a blank and empty canvas where his memories were supposed to be.

He hated not remembering.

Until he started having the dreams that made him long to forget.

The day Sailor Moon had cleansed the Makai tree, a flood of memories had come back to him.

He remembered stolen kisses with Princess Serenity in dark stone corridors, both breathless from the rush of forbidden love. He remembered fighting alongside Sailor Moon, his heart in his throat every time she put herself in danger. And most vividly, he remembered bickering with Usagi Tsukino in the streets of Juban, her pigtails blowing in the breeze, his stubborn self unable to admit that he had become addicted to their daily run-ins.

But his memories of his time as a Dark Kingdom pawn were blurry-vague snatches of battling against the senshi, bitter arguments with Kunzite, and most of all, an overarching feeling of emptiness.

That day, when Mamoru had regained his memories, he and Usagi had spent hours wrapped in each other's arms on his couch, discussing everything that had happened in both the distant and the more recent past.

He had asked her then. He wanted to know what it had been like when they weren't on the same side.

A fleeting, pained look crossed her face, but it was quickly replaced with a bright smile. "Mamo-chan!" she'd exclaimed, waving her hand dismissively. "It doesn't matter now. It's over, and we can finally be together!" He had planned to talk to her about it again, but then those ominous dreams had started, and he'd been forced to push her away. Now, they'd finally defeated the Black Moon clan. They'd said goodbye to Chibusa that morning, and Mamoru was looking forward to the first restful sleep he'd had in weeks.

But that night, his visions of a false future were replaced with something else that made those dreams pale in comparison. It was as if his brain decided it was time for him to see a slow-motion horror show, every disgusting detail magnified to the nth degree. The Dark Kingdom's chilled air on his skin. Queen Beryl's cackling laughter echoing throughout her throne room. Mamoru didn't realize someone could actually feel soulless. But he did. He felt the emptiness in him, that zombie-like state that made him ready for Beryl's next command, ready for her to control him like a marionette doll, pulling his strings to do whatever she pleased.

His lips curled into a cruel, sadistic smirk.

His arms raised his sword above his head, teeth bared as he snarled.

And then it got so much worse.

Sailor Moon's agonized screams as vines squeezed her body and electricity shot from black roses that pierced her skin. His roses.

The sickening smack of a steel-toed boot making contact with her stomach. His boot.

Her choked gasps as strong hands tightened around her throat, lifting her up and cutting off her air supply. His hands.

She was going to die.

He was going to kill her.

Mamoru shot up in bed, bile rising in his throat. He barely made it to the bathroom, where he retched violently, trembling and gasping for breath.

The dream that he knew was reality was seared into his brain. The burn marks on Usagi's skin she'd suffered at his hand. Her pleading him to stop, begging him to remember himself.

Her strength. His weakness.

Suddenly, the tingling feeling that signaled Sailor Moon was in trouble crept up the base of his spine. Inhaling sharply, Mamoru produced a red rose from thin air, and in one swift movement, Tuxedo Mask ran toward his balcony and jumped to the adjacent building.

His heart pounded fiercely in his ears as he leapt from building to building, concentrating on the link that drew him to Usagi to lead him, as it always did. He could feel her fear like it was his own, so he was surprised when he found himself in front of the Tsukino home, quiet and dark and bathed in moonlight, no sign of battle in sight.

The feeling that something was wrong still gnawed at him, and he hoisted himself up the tree that stood outside Usagi's room. He was about to climb to the branch that crept closer toward her window when he stopped, still hidden by the tree's inner branches and leaves, the image in front of him threatening to split his heart in two.

Usagi, clad in her pink bunny-print pajamas, was curled up in a fetal position in her bed, the moonlight reflecting off her comforter and casting the room in a purple-ish glow. Arms wrapped tightly around herself, she trembled as her lips moved incoherently, her face streaked with tears.

He knew immediately.

He, if anyone, knew what it was like to be tormented by nightmares. It wasn't the first time they'd shared a dream over their mental link. But those, as terrifying as they had been, hadn't been real. Now, he had seen in crystal clarity the hell Usagi had been through and how it still tormented her. He then realized that the feelings he had felt — her being in danger, her fear—were because she was remembering him. Remembering what he had done. It felt like being punched in the stomach.

He had run all the way here to save her…from himself. His throat constricted, and a familiar moisture welled up in the corner of his eye. He buried his head in his hands. He wanted nothing more than to sneak through her bedroom window, apologize for all the pain he'd caused, to comfort her, but he held back.

And he would keep holding back. It would come out every time he pushed her away, every time he kept her at arm's length or didn't tell her how much he loved her.

He wasn't good for her.

How could he be?

**Author's Note:**

> Oof. I promise I have some happier things in store for later in the week? Anyway, it always bothered me that this isn't really addressed in canon, so, here you go.  
> Reviews are love!
> 
> Also, shoutout to everyone who is participating in this week! I love seeing both new and seasoned writers pour into my inbox and Tumblr feed with an onslaught of amazing fic. We're doing great, everybody! Go check the others out and cheer them on!
> 
> One more thing! Feel free to give me a shout on Tumblr at TinaCentury. I'm always up for a chat!


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